


It's A Milkovich Life

by koganphrancis



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Sort of AU, christmas tale, holiday story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 21:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12944154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koganphrancis/pseuds/koganphrancis
Summary: A little holiday story inspired by a classic Christmas movie that was inspired by a classic Christmas story.





	It's A Milkovich Life

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning-this story has some dark elements to it. If you’ve seen the movie It’s A Wonderful Life you’ll have some understanding of what I’m talking about. I myself haven’t watched it for a few years, so I can’t really judge if this is darker, not as dark, or just about as dark as the movie. But since my writing tends to be on the lighter, cheery side, I just want to give readers a heads up that this tale may not be as fluffy and sugar covered as some of my other holiday stories. But nothing wicked bad really happens, I promise! 
> 
> This is canon divergent-Mickey never went to jail because Sammi was shooting at him, Caleb and Trevor never happened either. Yay!

Tensions were at an all-time high in the Milkovich house.

Wait, Mickey thought to himself, that couldn’t be true. Things had to be worse back in the days when Terry lived there-hell, even in the days when Svetlana lived there. With this tension, there was no threat of violence.

But probably what was making it harder, Mickey realized, was that it was all about Ian, and it hurt him to see the man he loved hurting more than any physical violence he had ever endured from Terry.

Ian had been having a tough time ever since Thanksgiving. This was the first set of holidays since Monica had died right after Christmas last year. Ian was never very happy about Thanksgiving since the year Mickey was in juvie and Monica tried to off herself, so Mickey hadn’t been too concerned (although he had noticed) when Ian’s mood took a downturn in November. Now it was almost Christmas and Ian was in an even worse place. When Mickey tried to talk to him about it a couple weeks ago, Ian had stormed out of the house and spent a couple nights at Fiona’s. He came back claiming he needed a clean uniform, but he stayed, and Mickey took that as a win. He hadn’t dared bring up Ian’s moods since though, and unless Ian got himself to his doctor, Mickey was probably going to have to broach the subject again.

They also hadn’t had sex in weeks, and that never improved anyone’s mood.

Ian was at the sink, mutely washing the dinner dishes, hostility radiating off his body. Mickey could see the tension in Ian’s shoulders, could see how tightly he was gripping the sponge, and how angrily he was swiping the dishes. Mickey chewed his bottom lip, wanting to say something, anything, to make things better, but not knowing what the hell that would be.

Svetlana had informed Mickey that she’d be keeping Yevgeny with her at the Balls’ for both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. When Mickey tried to argue that wasn’t fair and that they should share, she hissed at him, “Yevgeny deserves to be happy on the holiday. Your house is not happy. Carrot Boy makes everything not cheerful.”

“Svet, give him a break-it’s the first holidays since his mom…”

“He’s losing his shit. You know it. I know it. Yevgeny is not safe there again. He won’t be staying over unless Ian gets help again.”

Mickey knew there was no way he was going to win this argument, even though he fully believed that Ian wasn’t a danger to his son. When Svetlana went Mama Bear, there was no reasoning with her. Mickey tried anyway.

“Svetlana, this is only going to make things worse. If there was one thing that was going to make Ian happy this Christmas it’d be spending time with Yev.”

“Not four year old’s job to make your boyfriend happy.”

Mickey had had to tell Ian Svetlana would be keeping Yevgeny for Christmas before Svetlana had dropped Yev off for supper that night, he couldn’t have Ian talking up Christmas at their house-as unlikely as Ian was to do that these days. Ian hadn’t said anything, and Mickey didn’t tell him Svetlana’s reasons, but Ian had been pissed and hurt, Mickey could tell. Svetlana only agreed to letting her son still have some after school time with his dad and Ian because she knew it would upset Yev to have them cut out of his life altogether, and the kid was smart enough to pick up on trouble if she changed his routine too much. It was going to be hard enough to try to get him to understand he couldn’t sleep over there for a while.

Mickey and Svetlana had an unofficial custody arrangement where Yev would sleep at the Balls’ house during the week and at his dad’s on weekends. But a couple nights a week he’d have dinner at Mickey’s while his mom worked at the bar. No one had been more surprised than Mickey when Svetlana entered into both a domestic and business relationship with Kev and Vee a couple years back, but Mickey didn’t judge. As long as everyone was happy, he didn’t care what they were up to. But just catch him ever sharing Ian with anyone else-that would never fucking happen, he could guarantee that much in life.

“Ryan B. said there’s no such thing as Santa Claus,” Yev blurted out. There were at least five Ryans in Yevgeny’s all day pre-K class and Mickey didn’t bother trying to keep track of who was who-they were all little shits in his book. Any story from school Yevgeny ever told that included a Ryan always had Mickey seeing red. That particular set of boys were bad news.

Mickey had no idea how to handle this. He looked to Ian but he wasn’t turning around from the sink, wasn’t getting involved.

“Uh, is that so? What did you do?” Mickey asked, stalling for time.

“I asked Mama and she said it’s true.” Yevgeny stared at Mickey, his blue eyes hard, his chin jutting out in an uncanny resemblance to Ian. “YOU LIED TO ME!”

“Jesus Christ!” Ian shouted from the sink, a glass breaking just at that moment. For a second, Mickey thought Ian had squeezed the glass so hard it had shattered, but then realized he heard it hit metal first, it must’ve slipped from Ian’s hand.

“You alright?” Mickey said, jumping up and running to the sink, his angry son forgotten for a moment. Ian was trying to pick up the shards out of the empty half of the sink, carelessly grabbing at them and not paying enough attention so he wouldn’t cut himself. A slash of red started oozing from his index finger on his left hand. “Ian, stop, I’ll get that picked up. Take care of your hand, man.” Mickey was using his most soothing voice, but that seemed to piss Ian off even further. He shot Mickey a glare and left the room, wrapping a paper towel around his finger as he walked away.

Mickey was carefully picking up the biggest pieces of the glass using a dishtowel when he heard Yevgeny burst into sobs behind him. Mickey dropped everything he was holding into the trash, towel and all, and rushed back over to his son.

“Hey, Yev, it’s all right. Ian just nicked himself, he’ll be fine.” Mickey hoped that was the case, anyway. He should probably go check and see if Ian was going to need stitches.

“I don’t care about Ian! He lied to me too! And he’s no fun anymore!”

Oh shit, Mickey really hoped Ian hadn’t heard that.

“Yev, you’re just upset. Don’t take it out on Ian, okay? He’s been really sad lately, with good reasons, and it’s not his fault he’s not as fun right now.”

“Why. Should. I. Believe. You,” Yevgeny said, sounding way too grown up for a four year old, his tears had stopped and he was giving Mickey the coldest look he had ever gotten from anyone.

“Because I’m your father and you have to trust me,” Mickey said, his temper slipping but he kept his voice low. “For better or worse, kid, I’m pretty much all you’ve got.”

Yev’s face crumpled and he began to cry again. Mickey felt like the world’s worst asshole.

“Hey, Yev…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Mickey tried to put his arms around his son, but Yevgeny slid down off the chair out from under him and took off to the couch and threw himself on it face down, his sobs loud despite being muffled.

“Fuuuuck,” Mickey whispered to himself.

Yevgeny refused any attention or comfort from Mickey and finally fell asleep where he had fallen on the couch. Mickey put a blanket over him and gently placed his hand on his son’s head and felt his silky hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

He went to the bedroom to check on Ian, but Ian had locked the door.

“Ian, let me in,” he called softly, not wanting to wake Yev.

“No.”

Fuck. “Will you at least let me look at your finger? Make sure you don’t need stitches?”

“I’m a fucking EMT, Mickey. I don’t need stitches and I don’t need fucking you to fucking tell me that. Fuck off. Go play with _your_ son.”

“Ian,” Mickey pleaded.

“Mick-fuck off. I don’t want to talk.”

Mickey didn’t know what else he could do. He didn’t want to make Ian more upset, he didn’t want to start a fight, he didn’t want to wake up Yevy.

He went back to the front room and checked on Yevgeny, who was still sound asleep. He looked at the clock on the cable box and saw that Svetlana would soon be there to pick him up. He sat down heavily on a chair kitty corner to the couch and watched his son sleep without really seeing him.

He heard Svetlana’s key in the lock and sprung up to meet her, pushing her out onto the small porch so they could talk without waking Yev (and hopefully Ian was sleeping too, Mickey thought fleetingly).

“What the fuck is this Santa Claus shit now?” Mickey growled, getting right in Svetlana’s face.

“Boy at school told Yev there is no such person, he asked me, I tell him that’s true-there’s not.” Svetlana shrugged.

“Why the fuck would you tell a four year old there’s no such thing as Santa?”

“Because there is not,” Svetlana said. “Stupid American custom. Lie to kids and then wonder why they grow up to resent parents. You all create your own problems.”

Mickey’s eyes got huge. He couldn’t believe this. “Svetlana, why wouldn’t you let him have this-let him be like other little kids?”

“I just told you why. I am tired. I need to get Yevgeny and take him home.” She opened the door to the house and walked in.

Mickey dropped his head into his hands. He had a bitch of a headache and he couldn’t even begin to see how he was going to make this shit right with his son. Ian would know…if Ian was only talking to him.

Svetlana came back out, Yev slung over her, still asleep.

“Send Carrot Boy to Fiona and Yev can spend the weekend here, otherwise, he stays with me,” was all she said as she walked past Mickey.

Mickey went inside, locked the door behind him, and made his way back to the kitchen. He finished picking the glass out of the sink and rinsed the dishes that Ian hadn’t gotten to yet, putting them in the drying rack to air dry. He thought about drying them and putting them away, but he didn’t have the energy.

He reached into the highest cabinet over the stove and moved some shit around till he got his hands on an almost full bottle of Jack Daniels at the back. He grabbed a glass from the dish rack and sat down at the kitchen table.

As he got drunk, he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten drunk. He never even really got buzzed for fun anymore-it wasn’t so much fun since Ian couldn’t get buzzed with him-or shouldn’t, at any rate. There was a time or two even after Ian’s meds had gotten stable that they had…

Mickey shut those thoughts down. Drinking to get buzzed had led to enjoyable, imaginative fucking, and he was hurting bad enough already without missing that.

He didn’t think he’d actually get drunk, but when missed the glass entirely and poured whiskey all over his hand, he realized it didn’t take as much as it used to to get him properly wasted. He pushed the glass away in frustration and took a long swig from the bottle. In the morning he’d have a hell of a headache to deal with on top of everything else. That thought made him take another drink.

He got up on numb legs and made his way to Yev’s room. “Fuckin’ Ian kicking me out of my own bed, fuckin’ ingrate,” Mickey muttered, trying to kick his shoes off so he could lie down on Yev’s toddler bed. “Makes more sense for me to sleep in here than him though,” Mickey argued to himself. “Only seven inches of me hangs off the foot of this, with him is more like…” he tried to remember how many inches over five feet Ian was. All he could think of was “nine inches” and he knew that meant something else. “Fuck it,” Mickey said, face planting onto the race car bed when he managed to toe his shoes off. The bottle of Jack was in his hand as he fell and when he let go of the bottle over the edge of the low bed it tipped over, soaking into the rug they had picked up at Good Will when they had bought the bedroom furniture for Yev.

“Fucking stinkin’ up my kid’s room with whiskey. No better than Terry. I never shoulda been born, I _wish_ I had never been born,” Mickey told his drunk self drunkenly, slipping out of consciousness.

“Hey, hey, wake up,” a soft voice was saying, shaking him gently. “Mickey, honey, you gotta wake up, I gotta talk to you.”

Mickey rolled over onto his back, his feet hanging off the end of the bed. “What the fuuuuuck,” he groused, squinting at whoever was speaking to him. It wasn’t Svetlana, or any of the women he knew. There seemed to be a bright light shining from behind the woman, making it hard to see her face.

“Mickey? You awake now? That’s a good boy,” the woman said. Mickey blinked a few times, then rubbed his fingers and thumb over both his eyes, trying to rub the sleep out. When he looked at her again, he could make out clear green eyes, lighter than Ian’s but still familiar somehow.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Monica, sweetheart, come on, sit up, I have things to show you.” She placed her hand on his elbow, but Mickey ripped his arm away.

“Look, lady, I don’t know how you got in my house, but you have about five seconds to get the fuck outta here or I’m calling the cops.”

The woman looked like she was about to cry. “No! Please! You can’t send me away! I have to help you! I just have to! You see, I’m trying to earn my wings-it’s been almost a year and I haven’t been able to do it yet. But you’re my chance! My best chance!   Ian would want me to help you!”

“Ian?” Mickey barked. “How do you know Ian?”

“Before he was yours, he was mine.”

Mickey squinted at her suspiciously. “What did you say your name is?”

“Monica.”

“As in…”

“Ian’s mom, that’s right,” she nodded, smiling at him for finally getting it.

“How fuckin’ drunk am I?” Mickey said.

“You’re not drunk at all-now. I took care of that. I had to, so you could see what I have to show you,” Monica said, as if that explained anything.

“Yeah, right. I’m pretty fuckin’ sure I’m dreaming,” Mickey said.

Monica pinched him, hard, on the cheek. Mickey’s hand flew up to his face.

“Ow! The fuck you do that for?”

“To show you you’re not dreaming, silly!” Monica said. “Come on, we gotta go,”

“Go where?” Mickey asked, as she stood up and pulled on his arm.

“Not far, come on.”

They walked out into the hallway, and towards the front of the house. But the house didn’t look the way it had when he had gone to bed-it looked like it used to look, in the bad old days when Terry lived there.

Monica stopped when they got to the front room. It was set up the old way, with a couple of couches that hadn’t been there in years. “What…” Mickey started, but Monica hushed him.

“Shh, that’s what you’re here to see,” she said, pointing to one of the couches. Mandy was sitting there, playing a video game and eating a pizza bagel between working the controller. Mickey could only see her profile, and she didn’t look like his blonde grown up sister he had seen at Thanksgiving-this looked like a completely different girl. Mandy at around fourteen or so with magenta streaks in her dark hair.

“Mandy! Move your ass and start making supper!” a voice bellowed from the kitchen. The hair on the back of Mickey’s neck stood up. He hadn’t heard that voice in years, hoped he’d never hear it again-that Terry would die in prison and never trouble any of them again.

“Hold your horses, I’m coming,” Mandy groused, clicking out of the game and laboriously getting up from the couch. Mickey gasped when he saw her extended belly. He gasped again when she turned towards the kitchen and he could see she had a black eye.

“She’s pregnant?” Mickey hissed at Monica. “She can’t be much more than fourteen!”

“Just had her birthday last week,” Monica nodded. “She got pregnant at thirteen, just like her mom.”

Mickey turned to Monica. “The fuck is this? This didn’t happen.”

“Well, it does now, since you were never born.”

“Since I…? What the fuck are you talking about?” Mickey sputtered.

“You said tonight you never should’ve been born. Wish granted.”

“I didn’t wish…” Mickey stopped to think. Had he wished for that? Yeah, in his heart of hearts, he guessed he had.

Monica could see the realization and acceptance in his eyes.

“So, without you around to help protect her, things were much, much worse with Terry,” she said.

“He give her that shiner?” Mickey asked.

Monica nodded. “And he got her pregnant.”

Mickey was blinking his eyes open again. He didn’t remember anything but blackness overcoming him when Monica said that horrible thing. He looked around to start yelling at her, but the words died on his lips when he realized they were outside, in the cold, on a busy sidewalk.

“Where the fuck are we now?” Mickey said, finally turning his head to see Monica at his side.

“Downtown, but not the nice part,” Monica said.

“No shit,” Mickey snorted. All around him there were drug deals going down practically in the wide open, and whores were plying their trade. One was walking right towards them, on cheap heels in a skimpy outfit and a dead eyed stare. When she got close enough, he sucked in air through his front teeth. “Svetlana?” he croaked.

“She can’t hear you, but, yeah, that’s her,” Monica said. “Without you, she had to stay with her pimp. She’s got syphilis and no health insurance and isn’t long for this world.”

“But, Yevgeny, who will take care of him…”

“No you, no him,” Monica shrugged. “Come on, there’s still more for you to see.” She put her arm through his and walked them around a corner, but it couldn’t have been the right corner because now they were in a neighborhood far from downtown. They walked down the sidewalk a bit and stopped in front of The Alibi, but it wasn’t open. It was shut down, permanently. There were For Sale signs plastered all over it, and a big padlock on the door.

“No Alibi? How the fuck does that have to do with me?” Mickey said.

“Without you, Svetlana never came into Kevin and Veronica’s life, and they didn’t have her business acumen to keep the bar afloat.”

“Well, that sucks, but on the list of things you’ve shown me, it’s not the worst that could happen.”

“Without a bar within walking distance, Lip got into an accident driving drunk and lost all feeling from the neck down,” Monica said, her green eyes filling up with tears.

“You’re putting that on me? No! Fuck you! That’s all on him, not me!” Mickey said, clearly upset.

“I’m just showing you what the world is without you having been born,” Monica said quietly. “I’m not saying what Lip did was your fault at all, but it is one of the many consequences of you not being here.”

“Fuck your consequences. I don’t want to see anymore. Just take me home,” Mickey said, exhausted and defeated. “Please,” he added, quietly.

“There’s something else I have to show you, then we can go to that house where I found you, if you still want to,” Monica said sadly.

“Fuck that, I know my way home from here, I’ll just…” and Mickey turned to walk away, but suddenly they weren’t in front of The Alibi anymore. They were in a cemetery, it was cold and silent and fog was swirling just above the layer of snow that was covering everything. “What the fuck are we doing here,” Mickey whispered. Monica didn’t answer, she was looking at the grave in front of her. Mickey followed her gaze and noticed the headstone’s corner had fallen off. He leaned closer to read the name.

“Monica Darrgen Gallagher,” he read aloud. He looked at Monica. “Now, look, I never even met you, lady-you really can’t pin this on me.”

She shook her head, crying. “That’s not the one you have to see,” she said.

Mickey looked at her confused, then he read the stone next to hers. “Ian Clayton…NO! No fuckin’ way! Ian’s not…he can’t…”

The fog rose up over them, blocking the headstones and Monica from Mickey’s eyes just as he was reading the dates 1995-2012. When the air had cleared and he could see again, they were next to a black building. Mickey could hear pounding bass that must’ve been booming inside coming through the wall. “Where…?”

“I can’t look, I can’t bear it, but he’s down there,” Monica said, pointing further down the side of the building. Mickey took a few steps and saw a body lying in the snow. First he saw the long legs, then the bare arms, and finally the red hair.

“Ian! Hey, hey, Ian, wake up,” Mickey said, falling to his knees and trying to touch Ian, to shake him, to feel his warm skin in his hands, but his hands passed right through him. “Hey! Help! Monica! Help me!”

“I can’t, Mickey. There’s nothing you can do. You were never born so you weren’t here when Ian needed you. He passed out on that old man and he got scared and left Ian here to…” she was crying and turned away.

Mickey stood up and grabbed her and whirled her around. “You’ve got to help him. I can’t touch him but I can touch you, so you touch him.”

“Mickey, you and I only seem solid to each other because we’re not on this existential plane anymore.”

“Save the Shirley MacLaine shit for someone who believes it. We need to get Ian up, get him some help.”

“There’s no one to help him, Mickey.”

“Fuck that-there has to be someone! Doesn’t he have a guardian angel? How ‘bout that?” Mickey demanded.

Monica sighed. “Not everyone has a guardian angel. Some people get lucky and get living guardians-sometimes it’s even a cat or a dog or a guinea pig. Sometimes it’s a parent…or a lover.” She gave Mickey a significant look, but he was too upset to notice. “But lots of people don’t get either-no guardian of any kind. There’s not enough angels to go around-not everyone who dies becomes a guardian angel.”

“Why the fuck not?” Mickey said.

“It’s hard to explain, since instead of dying, you were never born,” Monica said.

“Try anyway,” Mickey said through gritted teeth.

“When people pass on, they go…somewhere else. They are freed from the cares and worries they had on earth. Their spirits are free! It’s so beautiful.” Monica’s eyes were dreamy, but Mickey didn’t have time for this shit.

“Your point?” Mickey growled, barely holding on to his patience.

“Right-well, most people, if they had a soulmate in life, just want to wait for that soul to join theirs in the afterlife and don’t bother to become guardian angels. But someone like me, I was…informed I guess is the closest way to describe it so you’ll understand-I was informed that my soulmate won’t be joining me for the longest time, so, if I was qualified, I could become a guardian angel.”

“And how do you qualify?” Mickey asked, thinking he already knew the answer.

“I can’t tell you,” Monica said, preparing for Mickey to start yelling again.

“By saving someone?   Someone like me?”

“More like finding someone who has lost his way,” Monica said very quietly, but lightning flashed in the sky anyway.

“Wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” Monica said miserably. “I’ve probably failed again.”

“Monica, look-he’s seventeen here!” Mickey said, pointing to Ian. “God or whoever can’t want a seventeen year old kid to die just because I’ve given up…”

Monica was fading before his very eyes.

“I’m sorry! They’re pulling me back…” her voice faded like an echo. Blackness overtook Mickey again, the last thing he saw was Ian’s red hair.

Mickey blinked his eyes open.

“Hey,” a soft voice said.

“Ian?” Mickey said in a puzzled voice, trying to focus on the face that was so close to his their noses were touching.

“Yeah, it’s me, and don’t worry, it’s the me you’ve been missing.”

“The you I’ve been…” Mickey’s brain was in a fog, nothing was making sense.

“Yeah. I, uh, I called Dr. Wheeler last night after I cut my finger-and, well, after I wouldn’t unlock the door for you. That finally made me face what I think we’ve both been afraid of, that I was manic again.”

“Hey,” Mickey tried to protest.

“No, Mick, it’s all right, and I love you for not throwing that in my face, even though Svetlana and my family did. I kept telling myself I was just sad about Monica not being here anymore, and that it was unnatural for the rest of my family not to care. But, uh, I haven’t been sleeping, and things were feeling more and more hopeless…”

Mickey rubbed his thumb under Ian’s eye to wipe away a tear. “It’s okay,” he soothed.

Ian nodded. “I mean, it will be. Dr. Wheeler told me to double up on my pills last night and to try to catch up on some sleep, and I have an appointment with her today at one thirty…do you think you could come with me?”

“Of course,” Mickey said.

“Good,” Ian smiled. “She talked to me for a long time. She doesn’t think I’m manic.” Ian smiled again, Mickey smiled back at him. “She thinks my meds might need to be tweaked a bit, and she told me again how it’s not only important that I get at least nine hours of sleep a night, but that it really should be the same nine hours every night. I think I’m ready to ask Rita to put me on days only.”

Mickey was so relieved that Ian was finally seeing the logic to that point. Dr. Wheeler had been trying to get Ian to work out a more regular schedule since he had become an EMT. When Ian had first gotten his meds stabilized, the first thing he did was make up with Mickey. The second thing he did was find a goal to make something of his life, and he hadn’t really slowed down since he got his GED and started his EMT training. Mickey did everything he could to make Ian’s life less stressful, he gave up his old way of life and had even taken over Ian’s old job at Patsy’s Pies when he quit to enroll in the EMT program. Mickey didn’t want to wash dishes all his life, so he did anything and everything he could at the restaurant to make Fiona’s life easier, and she soon put him in charge of inventory and ordering supplies, and the woman that owned the place gave him a promotion and had him overseeing procurement for several of her business ventures now. Mickey was completely legit and had sick days (one of which he’d use this day for Ian’s appointment) and a nine to five workday. If Ian could work just days too, it’d be perfect.

“Am I dreaming?” Mickey asked, smiling happily at Ian.

Ian pinched him on a butt cheek.

“Hey! What was that for?” Mickey asked, fucker had slid his hand right under Mickey’s jeans and boxers and stung his skin.

“Had to prove to you you’re not dreaming,” Ian chuckled. He moved his face forward to kiss Mickey.

“Ugh, I’ve got to have the worst whiskey breath,” Mickey said, when his lips and tongue were free.

“No, not at all. Were you drinking?”

“Yeah, I knocked a bottle over on Yev’s rug,” Mickey began, pulling Ian towards him on the tiny bed and throwing a leg over him and pulling up on Ian’s shoulder to see over him and look at the floor.   “It’s not there-did you pick it up?”

“No, I didn’t see a bottle in here…”

“That’s weird, I could’ve sworn I brought it in here,” Mickey said, “why can’t I find it?”

Ian shifted a bit and bucked his hips into Mickey’s. “Can you find that?” he asked, his voice low and deep.

“Is that…” Mickey shifted his own hips a little, feeling Ian’s hard on against him. “Is that for me?”

Ian laughed. “It’s for you, it’s because of you, it’s wanting you, it’s been too long. But,” Ian stopped him when Mickey was coming at him for a very open mouthed kiss,” I am not fucking on our son’s bed!”

They spent the morning in their own bed. After their first round, Ian told Mickey, “Svetlana saying Yev couldn’t spend Christmas with me was a wake up call…to get more sleep, ironically. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant and stubborn.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Ian. I know it can’t be easy, trying to hold everything together when you’re already feeling down. Just, maybe next time, don’t think you have to keep so much to yourself from me?”

“I won’t. I should know by now you always have my back. I was stupid to push you away,” Ian said.

“You didn’t…” Mickey began, but Ian pulled Mickey to him so their bodies were pressed together.

“I did, and I regret it, and if you’re up for round two I’ll try to start making it up to you.” His eyes searched Mickey’s.

“I’m ready if you are,” Mickey grinned.

In the afternoon they went to Ian’s doctor appointment. Dr. Wheeler listened to what Ian had to say, asked Mickey for his observations, and told them both that she was confident that what Ian was feeling was to be expected after the death of his mother.

“Just because your siblings aren’t feeling her loss as much as you are, it doesn’t mean you’re feeling too much, or that it has anything to do with having bipolar,” she said. “Having discussed your sleep patterns today as well, I can definitely say that I think that factored in to some of the difficulty you’ve been experiencing. If you’d like, I’ll be happy to write a note to your employer emphasizing the need for you to be on a more regular schedule.”

“I don’t think I’ll be needing that, but I’ll let you know. Rita’s been telling me I need more sleep for a few weeks now, I think she’ll help me out,” Ian said. “But, um, would you mind writing a note to Mickey’s son’s mother? Telling her that, you know, I’m not a danger to the boy, or her?”

Mickey put his hand over Ian’s and squeezed it and nodded. “I think that’s a good idea,” he added, looking at the doctor.

“Of course,” Dr. Wheeler said, turning to her computer and typing out a few lines. She printed out the note, signed it, and passed it over to Ian.

“Thank you,” Ian said.

“Okay, Ian, I’m writing you a couple of new prescriptions-we’re not adding anything new, I just want you to increase your dosage on two of the meds by a small increment. We’ll get back together in two weeks and see how they’re making you feel and go from there. Of course if you need me in the meantime, just call. My service will get me the message and I’ll call you back anytime, just like last night. Anything else I can do for you today?”

Ian assured her he was set for now, and he and Mickey went home after a quick stop at the pharmacy. While Ian was putting his pills away in the bathroom cabinet, Mickey went to the kitchen and searched the high shelf for the bottle of Jack Daniels. It was where he had first found it last night, the cap on tight.

Mickey asked Svetlana to come over alone that night, so she left Yevgeny in Vee’s care and came over. She listened while Ian explained everything the doctor told him, and she examined the note he handed her.

“You love Yevgeny, I know this. So you know if tables were turned, you’d keep me away until I was helped, yes?” Svetlana said.

Ian looked her right in the eye. “Yes.”

“But, Svetlana, you’ve gotta realize Ian’s got the right to feel sad sometimes, doesn’t mean he’s gonna run off with Yev,” Mickey said. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Hey, I’m just saying-it’s normal for the kid to see people sad, or stressed, right?”

“You have a point,” Svetlana admitted.

“So, can Yev spend Christmas here?” Mickey asked, ready to fight her if she said no.

She looked at Ian. “Would you like that?”

“Of course, more than almost anything,” he said, giving Mickey a quick look.

Svetlana smiled. “You two had sex today. You’re both much more relaxed.”

“None of your fuckin’ business,” Mickey muttered. Ian was nodding happily though.

“Yes, okay, I will drop him off around seven. We’ll have Christmas Eve with twins and thrupple, then he is yours,” Svetlana decided.

“Now, about this Santa shit,” Mickey said. “Ian found something else for you to read.”

Ian handed Svetlana another piece of paper with typing on it.

DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, ‘If you see it in THE SUN it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

VIRGINIA O’HANLON. 115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET.

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

“Who is Virginia?” Svetlana asked when she had finished reading.

“A little girl who lived a long time ago, but that’s not the point,” Ian said. “The point is, Santa Claus does exist in spirit. Can’t we please tell Yevgeny that? He’s going to see people dressed as Santa all over the place-can’t we explain to him that he’s a representation of caring and giving at this time of year?”

Svetlana thought about it, her brow furrowed. Then the lines disappeared and she smiled a little smile. “Yes, you can tell him this. I will tell him that in Russia there is no Santa Claus but in America people dress up like him and represent him.”

Mickey and Ian smiled too.

“Thank you,” Ian said.

“Might be too late to make him believe, though. My telling him I meant only in Russia now might not do it,” Svetlana warned, remembering how upset Yevgeny had been when she had confirmed Ryan B’s statement.

“I think I know something that’ll change his mind,” Mickey said, a plan forming in his mind.

On Christmas morning, Mickey and Ian got out of bed and woke Yevgeny while it was still dark outside.

“Yev, come quick, I heard a noise on the roof,” Mickey said. “I think it was Santa’s reindeer!”

Yevgeny gave his father a very “Mickey” look. Ian had to bury his head into Mickey’s shoulder blade from where he was standing behind him to hide his smile at his little Mini-Mick. Kid raised his eyebrows and everything.

“Daddy…”

“No, really, come on! If we’re quiet, maybe we can catch him in the act!”

Mickey scooped Yev up out of his bed and the three of them hurried to the living room. They were just in time to see the backside of Alibi regular Tommy, in a rented Santa suit, squat down to place a present under the tree and then take off through the front door with a Ho Ho Ho.

Yevgeny’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “Holy fuck! Did you see that?”

Ian couldn’t help laughing at that. His heart was full of love and happiness for both his Milkoviches. Just then a phone began to ring.

“Who would be calling at this hour?” Mickey wondered, as it was barely six AM. The phone continued to ring. “You gonna get that?” he asked Ian, still holding Yevgeny in his arms.

“My phone’s ring tone is Hey Mickey, is that your phone?” Ian asked.

“Mine’s Infinity by the xx,” Mickey said.

“Sounds like it’s coming from near the tree, maybe Tom…er, Santa dropped his phone?” Ian said, walking over to the tree and listening. But just as he got to the tree, the ringing stopped. “That was weird,” Ian said.

“Teacher says every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings,” Yevgeny said, from his spot in Mickey’s arms. Svetlana was an atheist, but she had enrolled Yev at a parochial school because she admired the fact that they actually tried to teach even the youngest students reading and arithmetic instead of being a glorified daycare.

Mickey’s eyes were drawn to the angel on the top of the tree. He could’ve sworn its wings fluttered and that she gave him a wink.

“Atta girl, Monica,” Mickey said softly.

“What was that?” Ian said, walking back over and slipping his arm around Mickey’s waist and threading his big fingers with Yevgeny’s little ones, making a little family circle.

“Merry Christmas,” Mickey said, kissing Ian softly over Yevgeny’s head. “Merry Christmas to us all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little attempt at some holiday cheer-hope you enjoyed it! Comments and questions are always welcome :) 
> 
> I sincerely wish very happy holidays to one and all-and if you don't celebrate any of the holidays, that's cool too! I wish a wonderful 2018 to everyone :)


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